


From L to E

by Space_Cadet_Blues



Series: Always By Your Side [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Deals With Human Emotions, Hank Anderson is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 08:33:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17158724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_Cadet_Blues/pseuds/Space_Cadet_Blues
Summary: Connor is finding ways to get to grips with human emotions.Hank is concerned. And maybe a little bit smitten.





	From L to E

After 7 months of peaceful cohabitation with the android sent by Cyberlife, Hank has observed that Connor has developed particular... quirks. Some of which have only become more noticeable the longer he and Connor live and work together.

Which is fine by Hank. He has a few quirks of his own. Some of which he knows Connor just about tolerates.

Hank observes out of the corner of his eye as Connor takes stock of his stationary, lining everything up neatly on his desk. Sticky notes perfectly stacked, pens aligned in orderly rows, paperclips sorted by colour and size confined to round plastic pots labelled accordingly.

This is something he does every other Friday. Hank has the routine memorised. At a quarter to quitting time Connor will conduct his little ritual of laying everything out. If there is less of a specific item his LED will flash a nervous yellow as he accounts for how many of that item he will need in order to replenish his stock. He has what Hank has decided to call ‘comfortable numbers.’

_“You tryin’ to summon the god of stationary or somethin’?” Hank had said in jest once, swivelling his chair a little to peer over at Connor’s handy work._

_The android had narrowed his eyes slightly. LED flickering between yellow and blue so quickly that Hank would have missed it if he didn’t know how to read Connor’s moods by now. This is a touchy subject for some reason._

_“I am merely confirming I have one A5 notepad. Twenty 35mm paperclips in red, silver and blue. Twenty 50mm paperclips in red, silver and blue. Twenty treasury tags. Two packs of staples. Two packs of dividers. Twenty ballpoint pens, five blue, five red and ten black. Two packs of sticky notes and two markers one black and one red.”_

_“Alright, sorry I asked.” He’s not sorry at all. He wants to understand the apparent obsession. “Has to be those specific numbers?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Why?”_

_Connor’s LED circles yellow as he thinks about it, slender fingers pushing another pen almost perfectly into formation with the others that are lined up next to his stapler. He adjusts it momentarily and then stops, looking up at Hank with much more determination than Hank expects for a conversation about stationary._

_“I like those numbers.”_

_Hank peers at him for a moment before shrugging. “Fair enough.”_

_Though Hank can’t entirely understand why Connor likes those numbers or feels compelled to count stationary, he supposes it doesn’t matter as long as it makes Connor happy. It seems like a relaxing pastime to Connor. A small comfort. Hank understands small comforts better than anyone._

Though, Hank is now concerned that this isn’t merely a small comfort, because the more he thinks about it the more little alarm bells start ringing in his head. Connor isn’t just ridiculously organised at the office. He’s also like this at home.

A couple of months after moving in he’d started to do things like alphabetise Hanks records, line up his fridge magnets in size order and arrange ornaments at a perfect distance from each other.

During the tumultuous period between the success of the revolution and Connor being allowed to take an exam in order to be officially reinstated at the Detroit Police Department as a Detective, he’d even gone so far as to rummage through Hank’s wardrobe and draws, and clean and organise all of his clothes. Hank had come home to find his underpants folded and his socks neatly paired and tucked into his underwear draw, uniform and precise. On closer inspection Connor had even ironed them. They had, had a discussion about boundaries that evening, a discussion that quickly devolved into a lecture about Connor’s strange ironing priorities. Because seriously, who the fuck irons underwear.

Connor apparently.

Hank is aware that obsessiveness seems to be a prominent deviant android trait, but from his observations regarding Connor, obsessive activities seem to intensify the more pressure Connor is under. Maybe there’s something that his android buddy isn’t telling him.

Connor gives a final cursory glance to his inventory before heading off to the stationary cupboard. This routine hasn’t escaped Gavin Reed who watches Connor like a hawk as the android bypasses his desk before his gaze flits challengingly over to Hank.

Hank puts on his best glare, injecting it with as much menace as possible.

_Don’t you fuckin’ dare Reed._

Reed’s eyes glint with malice and Hank braces for the inevitable interference. Connor is happily trotting back to his desk with his supplies when Reed sticks out his foot.

Connor trips.

Hank is almost out of his seat but then Connor moves with all the grace given to him by expertly tuned hydraulics and state of the art preconstruction software. He regains his footing lightning quick and manoeuvres the pad of paper he had managed to keep a hold of to catch the tumbling pack of staples and three ballpoint pens before they hit the floor. He clutches them close to his body once more and turns to Reed who is watching him with a look of furious awe. Connor straightens proudly and looks down his nose at him.

“Detective Reed, I think you had best focus on handing in your reports on time rather than harassing co-workers. Your efficiency over the last month has dropped 13%. That’s a pretty steep decline. You wouldn’t want to get a disciplinary from Fowler now, would you?”

Hank grins. That was Connor speak for: _Eat a dick Reed._

Reed’s mouth opens and closes a few times as dumbstruck fury grinds his brain to a halt, his cheeks growing redder by the second.

A handful of eavesdropping officers snicker as Connor walks victoriously back to his desk, smiling impishly at Hank as he takes his seat.

Reed shoves away from his desk and stalks angrily out of the bullpen. Hank rolls his eyes.

“Get everything you needed?”

“Yes thank you Lieutenant.”

Connor smiles warmly before getting on with his stock taking, putting the items in their designated places once he is satisfied. Hank’s heart does some sort of weird almost painful squeezing thing. Maybe he should get that looked at. Connor keeps urging him to live a healthier lifestyle, maybe the saturated fat from all those cheeseburgers has come back to bite him in the ass.

\----

After finishing up their paperwork and processing a request for a warrant which they won’t hear back about until Monday, they head home.

Rain pelts the car with furious intensity and Hank drives slow, peering through the frantically swaying window wipers that squeak across the glass.

“I’ve been meaning to ask. And, I don’t want you to get offended or anything. I’m just curious.”

Hank glances at Connor who tilts his head, waiting for Hank to ask his question.

“What’s with all the counting and organising? Not that I’m not grateful or anything. You do a better job than I ever could at keeping everything in order. It’s just, sometimes it seems a little, too much? doesn’t it ever get tiring?”

Connor looks at his hands which rest neatly in his lap before looking back at Hank. “I find numbers... Soothing. I think. It helps with calibration and keeping my mind occupied.”

“Keeping your mind occupied?” Hank knows a thing or two about that, mostly from developing avoidance tactics. “There something you don’t wanna think about?”

Connor looks away and Hank catches the yellow flash of his LED in the reflection of the passenger side window.

“Yes.” Connor says quietly.

Hank lets his answer sit heavy between them for a moment before finding a spot along the road to pull over safely. He parks up and Connor looks at him curiously.

Hank drapes a forearm over the wheel, turning his body toward Connor.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

Despite his wariness of the conversation they are about to have, Connor’s lips quirk at that. Hank marvels at the naturalness of it. He’s come a long way.

“Yes Hank.”

“I’m gonna sound like a bit of a hypocrite for saying this. But sometimes even if you don’t want to talk about something, it’s not good to keep it all bottled up.” _You taught me that._ He doesn’t say. “So, is there anything that’s particularly, I dunno, stressing you out?”

Connor looks to the side for a moment before gathering his thoughts.

“I think so. I find processing emotions hard. But I find processing data easy. So sometimes it’s easier for me to focus on numbers rather than trying to put a name to things that I’m feeling.”

Hank nods. “Makes sense. But what about, ironing underpants. Where does that fit in?”

“You’re the textbook definition of slovenly Hank. I felt as though it was the least I could do to keep the house in order.” Connor’s mouth quirks at the corner teasingly.

Hank snorts a laugh, “Fuck you, plastic prick,” he shoves Connor’s shoulder who smiles and neatens his hair after being jostled. “We’ll see how funny you are when I get a sweet deal for selling you on eBay.”

“You wouldn’t get much. Considering one, that’s now illegal, and two, I’ll only find my way home again.”

Hank feels warmth in his cheeks. He likes the fact that Connor thinks of their little house as home.

“Even if I mailed you to China?”

“Even if you mailed me to China.” Connor smiles and Hank's heart does that painful squeezing thing again.

“Well then, looks like I’m stuck with you. And if that’s the case. You should probably tell me a little more about what’s bothering you.”

Connor fiddles with his hands in his lap and Hank knows if he had his coin it would be dancing over his knuckles right about now. Come to think of it he hasn’t seen the coin in a while.

“I spent so long doing things in a linear way. I always had some kind of mission objective. I like having tasks. I especially like them if I set them for myself. Taking care of the house, Sumo, you. Creating itineraries at work and managing my desk. I like doing those things. You have to understand Hank. I’m not human. So it might seem strange to you that I enjoy tasks that might seem menial or unnecessarily time consuming to you.”

It actually makes perfect sense to Hank. Connor was built to focus and process information. It must have driven him nuts to no longer have directives.

“I get that. I get it. And I don’t want you to act as though you’re biologically human Connor. I just, want to make sure you’re happy. I know that when you freak out you double down on keeping everything organised and to a schedule. Even my damn meals. I was concerned because humans do that too y’know. When we feel like we don’t have control over one thing. We make damn sure to have control over something else. So, I get that you wanna assign yourself tasks. That’s fine. But is there anything you feel like you don’t have control over that would make you go into overdrive. Like, you said you find processing emotions hard, and there’s stuff you don’t wanna think about. If you tell me about it, maybe I can help.”

Connor looks at him owlishly. Like he isn’t too sure he wants the conversation to continue. But he perseveres.

“I’m not so naive as to think I could ever understand everything I feel and know how to deal with it effectively. Some feelings are stronger than others. One emotion in particular. But... I felt as though talking about it might complicate things.”

Hank frowns a little. He had no idea Connor was struggling so much. He makes a mental note to be more observant in the future.

“Hey, never feel like you can’t talk about stuff like that. You don’t have to internalise everything because that’s when shit gets messy,” _I should know_. “You’ve got me to air out all your crap to. So, what’s this big emotion that’s giving you trouble?”

Rain drums hard on the roof in the silence and Hank is prepared to sit here for as long as necessary. It’s the least he can do to try and repay Connor for all the patience he has shown Hank.

“I think... I believe I am experiencing romantic attachment.”

“Oh... Oh okay,” Hank feels a pang of jealously. His heart shrivelling at the very thought of Connor mooning over someone so much that he has to retreat into himself and escape by counting fucking paperclips, but, having a crush or falling in love in most cases is part and parcel of having full access to the emotional spectrum. “I understand. Romantic attachment is kind of a bastard to process. So uh, are you gonna tell this person how you feel?”

Connor’s expressions have always been somewhat limited but Hank can see a flicker heartsick fear in his eyes.

“I don’t know. I’m only 60% sure they would return my affections.”

“60% is still a heck of a lot. How do you even calculate something like that anyway?”

“By monitoring heartrate, pupil dilation and perspiration levels during interactions.”

Hank’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “So this person is human?”

“Yes.”

Hank hadn’t expected that. He had thought maybe, Markus, if he had to pick anyone. He was the only other person Connor seemed to spend a reasonable amount of time with. Hank searches his memories for any mutual friends or acquaintances that Connor could possibly have the hots for but they all seem rather unlikely.

“Anyone I know?”

Connor smiles. “Yes.”

Hank frowns thinking hard. “Oh Christ please tell me it’s not Reed.”

Connor gives a surprised snort at that, looking at Hank incredulously with a hint of disgust. “I would rather be disassembled and recycled only to be remade a garbage can than have an emotional attachment to Gavin Reed.”

Hank laughs heartily at that. “Too fucking right. Who is it then?”

“I can’t say. If you can’t guess.”

“Is it Tina?”

“No.”

“Chris?”

“No.”

“Give me another clue.”

“Maybe.”

“Connor!”

“The rain has eased up, maybe we should head home.”

Hank looks at him, gaze steady. Connor smiles softly back at him. He’s not ready to talk about it yet. That’s alright. Maybe for now, Hank can at least impart some advice.

“Alright. You okay?”

“Yes. I’m feeling a little better now. Thank you for listening Hank.”

“No problem.” Hank checks his mirrors and pulls out onto the road before he speaks again.

“Listen, this whole romantic thing, it’s scary at first, but don’t let that put you off telling someone how you feel. We only get one life and you should get your answer, even if it’s not the one you were hoping for.”

Connor nods. “Got it.”

“... We also need to get you a hobby. Help you relax and give you something better to focus on. Maybe you’ll stop being such a drill sergeant when it comes to work... and food.”

“Not going to happen Hank. Your reduced consumption of alcohol and foods that are high in saturated fat and sugar has improved your health and quality of life.”

“... Asshole.”

Connor smiles and It’s just on the edge of smug. Hank snorts a laugh.

So maybe Connor is a little confused. And maybe developing little obsessions is his way of coping. That’s alright. Thanks to Connor’s meddling with his quality of life Hank will be around for a while to help him figure it out.

**Author's Note:**

> Hank: Is this love?.. No, it's most certainly heart palpitations. Or indigestion. 
> 
> This is a fill for a prompt a friend gave me for tidiness/compulsiveness. 
> 
> I have this headcanon that deviant androids have this little obsessive streak (inspired by the obsessive writing on the walls in the game) and like to keep themselves busy to make sure everything is ticking over, and to replace the absence of core directives. The more stressed they become the more they go overboard. 
> 
> I think in Connor's case it would be particularly prominent because of what he was originally designed for. All that focus has to go somewhere (even if half of it is on Hank.) 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
